


Sol comes.

by lazbobthing



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dragons being awesome, Dragons though, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fuck season five, Gen, M/M, Multi, Mystical bullshit, Old Solar Dragons, Something that came to me while rewatching Game of Thrones, anyways this Dragon OC of mine woke up and went 'No. No I don't like it. I WANNA FIX IT', idek what this is, silly nonsense not at all to be taken seriously.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazbobthing/pseuds/lazbobthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It is an ancient legend, all the way from old Valryia, the shadowlands. A myth of a serpent, a serpent like dragon as big as the Sun, with scales that burned with the sun’s flame. With the mind of a man, or equal to one, the dragon Sol aided the ancient Valyrian Kings with their rule, They also say, after their rule turned despotic, that the old Kings attempted to slay Sol, much to the beast’s dissatisfaction, and sent the beast howling into a pit that stretched to the very core of the land. Sol swore he’d return one day, to right their wrongs.” ser Jorah murmured, as another tremor shook the earth, stronger this time, and the faintest whisper of a echo of a roar seemed to drift on the wind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He is Awake.

It had been too long. He had slumbered for far, far too many centuries, and he shook in his nest, his cavern, what the mighty men who had wounded him a millennia ago called his grave. He could sense he was alone but for three, who yet to nuzzle free from their eggs. 

Silver slitted eyes sluggishly slid open, and a great maw split, revealing rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth, and a roar, like the crumbling of a mountain, rumbled through miles of soil and dirt and stone, echoing for miles, shaking ruins and trees alike. 

It was time for Sol to return to the world above. 

The earth shook, making buildings and castles and sea alike tremble, causing an outcry of panic from high and common folk alike, from Essos, to Pentos, to Braavos, to Westeros itself. Kings Landing, Dorne, even Winterfell felt their mighty walls quiver, and the Dothraki horde stopped in place, awe and fearful wonder in every man and woman’s eyes. 

“Sol,” Was passed from tongue to tongue, whispered in great, terrified reverence, from those who knew of the legend, and those who had only heard wisps.

“What is Sol?” Asked Daenerys Targaryen, turning to Jorah Mormont, who looked astounded. He cleared his throat, turning in his saddle to face the Khaleesi. 

“An ancient legend, all the way from old Valryia, the shadowlands. A myth of a serpent, a serpent like dragon as big as the Sun, with scales that burned with the sun’s flame.” He told her softly. 

“They say Sol had the mind of a man, or equal to one, and aided the old kings of Valyria in their rule. They also say, after their rule turned despotic,that the old Kings attempted to slay Sol, much to the beast’s dissatisfaction, and sent the beast howling into a pit that stretched to the very core of the land. Sol swore he’d return one day, to right their wrongs.” ser Jorah murmured, as another tremor shook the earth, stronger this time, and the faintest whisper of a echo of a roar seemed to drift on the wind. 

“He is awake,” Whispered Irri, from Daenerys’ side, voice soft and reverent. “And Sol is coming.”  
And she was right, for even now, they could see, in the distance, the hint of a massive, coiling shadow, moving at impossible speed through the sky.  
“If that thing, whatever it is, keeps at that speed, it’ll be on us by the time we reach the plateaus.” ser Jorah noted, with a growing worry in his features. 

Hours later, when they reached their destination, they were forced to stop short, the entire Dothraki horde stopped short, for before them, perched an unspeakably massive serpent like beast, with a golden stream of feathers down its spine, that shimmered in the fading light. Despite night drawing upon them, the plateau was alit, with every movement of the beast itself, who seemed to glow like the sun. The mass of red russet and golden orange scales moved, and rose, the huge head of the beast with enormous silver slitted eyes.

“It may have been centuries, while I slept, but I could recognize a Targaryen anywhere,” It spoke, with a booming voice like the crash of thunder, considering where Daenerys sat on her horse, next to Khal Drogo, Jorah Mormont, and Viserys. 

Silence reigned for a good long minute, before Daenerys dismounted her horse, much to the dismay and murmurings of the horde and the angry, worried sounds from Jorah and Khal Drogo.

“Brave,” Noted the dragon, with an almost amused look to its face, as she stepped forward, dainty yet strong, towards it.  
“Tell me, girl,” In a movement far too quick for human eyes to see, its head was lowered down, to stare the Khaleesi in the face.  
“What is your name?”

“Daenerys. And you are Sol, are you not? The great Dragon, equal to the Sun itself in size?” Retorted Daenerys, as she gazed up at the beast, who snorted, smoke as white as clouds drifting from its nostrils. “They say you were equal to a man in mind,” Added the Khaleesi, as an after thought.  
The beast moved, and a feeling of power, of magic, filled the air, emanating from it like a shockwave as it seemed to shrink and shift, a change taking place over the Sol dragon.

It did not stop, before the entranced and awed horde, not until from where the Dragon had sat, strode forth a man with silver, serpentine eyes. A man, with jaw length mahogany hair, streaked with golden feathers, of average height and lean, lithe body, nude as can be, a goatee circling his lips. A smattering of russet red and golden orange scales lay down the length of his back, following his spine.

“Really?” He asked, a smirk on his face, to the stupefied Daenerys. “Sol, that’s what they called me, in myth and legend. Half right, I suppose. That’s my species,” He inclined his head, holding a hand out as he bowed. “Solar Dragon.” He clarified, straightening, uncaring of his nudity and smirking still. 

“My name, however, is Lazarus. And what I would like, Daenerys Targaryen,” His expression turned stormy, as a scowl crossed his lips. “Is to know what exactly has occurred since I was sleeping. Why is Valyria burned, and covered with demons, made of ash and dust and shadow? Why is a family, of old Valyrian royalty, traveling in rags and seemly only two in number?” He demanded, a burning fire in silver, serpent like eyes. 

“Tell me _everything._ ”


	2. Schemes, Secrets and Sexuality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a mountain is destroyed, a shirtless Ser Jorah is ogled, and plots are...plotted.

A day and a night passed before Daenerys, Jorah, and strangely enough. Khal Drogo, had finally finished getting Lazarus up to speed.   
Another three came and went, as the dragon raged and fumed and mourned in silence for the world he had known, and the world had awoken to.

When told of the fate of all Dragons, the great beast howled with anguish, and destroyed a mountain range for five days and nights, mad with grief.

When he finally returned, he was welcomed cautiously but warmly by the horde, Daenerys even greeting the dragon with a hug.   
"What was that for?" Lazarus asked, bemused, gazing at the now blushing Khaleesi.

"You are the only true Dragon I have ever known. The last. Forgive me for feeling ill at ease without your presence." The Targaryen replied smartly, with an arch of a brow. Lazarus could not hold back a laugh at her fiery demeanor, she was beginning to shed her meek shell it seemed. 

"I notice the mad king reborn isn't here," He noted the absence of Viserys, taking in with interest the way her eyes hardened. 

"He threatened me in front of Drogo, threatened the life of my child. He is dead." She told him with an expression like stone.  

"Good riddance." Muttered Lazarus.  
 "He, and people like him in Valyria were why I am strongly against dragons and humans breeding. Dragon madness does not translate well with human mind and blood." He shrugged one shoulder, as if he hadn't revealed a fascinating insight of Old Valyria. 

"You Targaryens literally have the blood of the dragon. Mixing blood with siblings only strengthens madness, to be fair, but the blood of Dragons shares some of the blame." The dragon paused, noticing the wide eyed stare Daenerys was giving him.

"What? Surely you've heard all this before, I would have thought dragonlore would be something Targaryens never forgot." He winced at the look she gave him at that. 

"Ah. Right. I'm an old dragon, my memory isn't what it used to be," Lazarus grumbled defensively, holding up his palms in a placating gesture. 

"Naturally," Daenerys replied blandly, a sharp edge making the words bittersweet.

"What of Ser Jorah, then?" Asked the great beast amiably, and she beckoned him to follow. Obliging, he trailed her past a few tents, to where a group of Khalasar had deigned to spar and train.  
     The dragon stopped dead, swallowing, mouth dry as the terrain surrounding them.  
Ser Jorah stood shirtless with Rakharo and several other blood riders of Daenerys' guard, the knight instructing them on Westerosi ways of battle.

"What is it?" Daenerys queried, gazing curiously at the rather dumbstruck expression of Lazarus.

"Ahhh," He replied intelligently, trying not to focus on how the handsome knight's muscles flexed as he moved. "Er." He tried again, successfully shaking himself from his reverie of admiration and turning back to a puzzled looking Targaryen.

"You enjoy the human male form, Lazarus? But you are male yourself, are you not?" She stared at him, brow furrowed.

Lazarus was beet red as he replied stiffly, "Dragons are neither male or female. I may have the form of a human male now, but I am neither in reality. You human's concepts on sexuality are ridiculous."

"I notice that you didn't answer my question." Daenerys arched an eyebrow at him, and he colored further.

"Maybe. No. Yes. What does it matter? What a lovely day it is, isn't it?" He rambled, attempting to meander away.

"You are terrible at this, Lazarus," She told him bemusedly, trailing behind him with ease.

"Yes, forgive me for my social manner growing rusty from a millennia or more of no use," Grumbled the beast, one hand rising to scratch at his feather lined hair.  

"I have thought, however, that perhaps I can aid you. You and Ser Jorah told me of your brother, Rhaegar, and his wife. Do the Martells know you live? You are their goodsister, even if your brother and Elia are long dead. Mayhaps their allegiances could be yours?" He posed, taking on a serious manner and turning to face her entirely.

"I had not thought of that," Daenerys blinked in surprise. "Although, I would suppose that Dorne's reputation concerning gender liaisons and their overabundance for beautiful people have nothing to do with this suggestion," She eyed him, an amused look crossing her face as he went red again.

"If you were to go to Dorne, what would you present yourself as? Your, ahem, natural form, as wondrous as it is, will cause panic in the streets." Daenerys mused, folding her hands in front of herself.

"I could present myself as a Targaryen emissary from her Grace, Daenerys Stormborn." The dragon suggested, tilting his head, eyes locked upon her. "And if I go and retrieve an abundance of a herb, in Old Valyria, that was used to treat Gout, it may sweeten their disposition. Turmeric, I think it is called..." Lazarus grinned at the approving look on her face. 

"Do I have your approval, then?" The dragon asked teasingly, with a exaggerated flourishing bow. 

The Khaleesi couldn't keep from giggling, and nodded, and Lazarus smiled, making his way to an open enough area to shed his human form and take flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING BUT I'M HAVING FUN AND ENJOYING THE STRONG MUSE I HAVE FOR THIS.


	3. 3: A Date with Dorne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a dragon enjoys Dorne, has inappropriate thoughts towards its rulers, and attempts to negotiate.

Dorne, Lazarus is quick to decide, is BEAUTIFUL. The red desert surrounding Sunspear is the perfect temperature for the Dragon in any form, though he hadn't shed his human shell since arriving within eyesight of the city. 

He drew odd looks from the guards at the main gates, striding calmly through the desert as if he were born from it, and after some gentle persuasion and announcing his status as a Targaryen emissary, there on behalf of Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of the Andals, etcetera, etcetera, he was allowed into the city.

His appearance drew stares and whispers from all he passed, as he was escorted up to where the Martells held court. This he had expected, given the golden feathers naturally threaded in his dark brown hair and his draconic silver eyes. 

What he hadn't expected, despite knowing of Dorne's differing ways to Westeros and most of Essos, were the outright catcalls and lewd invitations that were sporadically shouted out from passersby. 

He was glad to arrive at the palace, and stood serenely outside the throne room, as he was announced by the guards.

The massive doors swung open, and the Dragon sauntered in, inhuman eyes flitting about idly, landing upon the three humans who awaited him at the throne. The eldest was a handsomely featured man, wisdom and cunning carved into his face and simmering in his dark eyes.

  It was safe to assume this was Prince Doran Martell, ruler of Dorne, which would make the beautiful woman at his right his daughter Arriane, his heir. 

Which left the man on the left, who was half sprawled in a languid position on his chair, dark eyes locked on the Dragon from his alarmingly gorgeous face. 

"Greetings, Prince Doran, Princess Arianne, and Prince Oberyn." Lazarus greeted grandly, bowing his head. "I am an emissary from her Grace Daenerys-"

"Yes, we know who you claim to serve." Oberyn interrupted, rising slightly with a viper's smile. "What we do not know, is who you are, and how you managed to earn the trust of a Targaryen." The Red Viper leaned forward with a deadly grace, that made a shiver run down the dragon's spine. Oh, /no/. The actual worst time to be ridiculously attracted to someone.

"I would gladly show you why, Prince Oberyn," The dragon began, with a benign smile, tilting his head as he continued with a shrug, "But I would dearly hate to accidentally destroy your lovely palace." He did his best to look sheepishly apologetic. 

His words baffled the three, it was  visible to see on their faces. 

"Was that a threat, Lord...?" Princess Arianne asked sweetly, voice laced with poisonous rage.

"Oh, yes, I haven't even introduced myself. I am no Lord. My name is Lazarus, but most people these days know me by the name my legend has given me." The dragon bowed his head again. 

"Before I forget, Prince Doran, I bring you a gift of a herb from Old Valyria, with seeds to plant more of it. It is called Tumeric, and it was known to greatly aid those with Gout." Lazarus stepped forward, withdrawing a pouch from his pocket and holding it out to the Prince, who looked suspicious and doubtful.

"It's meant to be used as a tea, but you can have it tested for poison, if you wish." Lazarus added, noticing the suspicious looks sent his way. 

"Give us one reason not to kill you where you stand." Arianne said plainly, a deadly expression on her face. 

"Well, you'd ruin your perfectly good swords and daggers and spears trying to do it," Lazarus replied helpfully, with a shrug. "Princr Oberyn, I give you free reign to stab at me, if you like." He invited, firmly not blushing at any possible double meaning. 

Two thousand years of slumber and here he was feeling like a young amorous wyrm again.

He wasn't expecting the man to rise, quick as a cobra, and he didn't expect the handsome Dornish prince to attempt to bury a dagger into his chest. 

The look on Oberyn's face, when the dagger curled and bent under the force like parchment, upon striking Lazarus, nearly made the Drake cackle, but he refrained, smiling amiably. His hands rose, unbuttoning his tunic enough to show that the area where he had been struck was now covered in his shimmering, sun colored scales. 

"Sol Comes." He said quietly and simply, with a little smirk.

**Author's Note:**

> RIGHT SO I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS. But yeah. I had fun writing it. I might continue it, but if I do, it'll mostly follow Lazarus, as he roams, meeting the players in the Game and y'know, doing dragon things, like eating the rude [they're delicious, you know], seeking out shiny things, eventually fretting and mother henning over Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion [because babies]. 
> 
> Basically it's all nonsense and I expect no one to ask for more or enjoy but fuck it, I do. Heheheh.


End file.
